


A Quiet Day in the Tardis

by kesdax



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen, Obscure and British Commentfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor enjoys a quiet day in the Tardis. Or tries to at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Day in the Tardis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Obscure & British comment fest 2014 over at [lost_spook's](http://lost-spook.livejournal.com/389689.html) journal on LJ.
> 
> Prompt was: Classic Who, Fifth Doctor, quiet day in the Tardis

Silence.  
  
There was actually silence in the Tardis.  
  
For the first time that he could remember in this regeneration, the Tardis was quiet... peaceful, even.  
  
He couldn’t believe it.  
  
For one horrifying moment, the Doctor thought he had gone deaf. That his ears had finally had enough of Tegan’s shouting, of Adric’s whining, of Nyssa’s probing questions about how everything worked.  
  
He was almost afraid to move in case he ruined it. In case his feet scuffling across the floor shattered the stillness and alerted his raucous companions to his whereabouts, ruining what, the Doctor was hoping fervently, was turning out to be a fairly pleasant morning.  
  
He crept – actually  _crept_  – to the library, but his companions were nowhere in sight and he felt a bit foolish, like he was doing something scandalous that wasn’t suitable for the eyes and ears of his young companions. He hadn’t had to sneak around his Tardis since that time Romana had banned him from the console room when he – accidentally, he might add – blew up the time rotor. Imagine  _him_ , the Doctor, being banned from his own Tardis. The cheek of it!  
  
He had done a bit of rearranging with the Tardis interior after his regeneration. New body, new home, he always said. Well, not really, he had never actually said that in his life. Any of them. But the point was; his rearranging had resulted in the library deciding to abuse the opportunity and removing itself as far away from the console room as possible, as if it were personally affronted by all these people now taking up residence in the blue box.  
  
The Doctor didn’t blame it really, not after Tegan had spilled tea all over a rare first edition of Lord Byron’s collected poems. After a blazing row, he hadn’t spoken to her for a week, and she had sought every opportunity to gripe on about his piloting skills, more so than usual.  
  
It took the Doctor a brisk fifteen minute walk to reach the library. It was blissfully empty. The Doctor fetched his favourite Agatha Christie novel, settled down on one of the big armchairs with his feet propped up and positioned his half-moon spectacles on the bridge of his nose.  
  
He was about two thirds of the way through the book when a shriek - with an Australian sounding accent - shattered the narrative. The Doctor was so absorbed in the story (even though he had guessed by half way down the first page who had done it) that he jumped, the book falling out of his hands and landing haphazardly on the floor and his glasses left askew on his face.  
  
The Doctor hid – hid as if it were a Dalek rounding the corner and not an angry former air hostess with a grudge - in amongst the natural history shelves.  
  
 _Three hours!_  That’s how long it had lasted. Three measly hours without a peep from one of his companions.  
  
So much for a quiet day in the Tardis.


End file.
